


Bottles of Three Kinds

by Bumblie_Bee



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Don't worry no harm comes to Helen, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Phillip needs to talk some sense into his friend, Phineas Whump, Poor Phineas, The protesters are not nice people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 21:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumblie_Bee/pseuds/Bumblie_Bee
Summary: Phillip had heard stories of the trouble caused by the protesters before he had become part of the circus. Lettie had once, her tongue loosened by whisky, told him of the time she had been pushed to the floor and violently kicked. He had put his arm round her and told her how he wished he had been there to put a stop to it before she had been hurt.Phillip had been at the circus the day they had become too forceful for the troupe to handle and the fire that had taken their home and very nearly his life had broken out.He had also been at the circus the day one of the protesters had taken hold of Helen Barnum.





	Bottles of Three Kinds

**Author's Note:**

> My first Greatest Showman fic, I hope you enjoy!

There had been a problem with protesters at the circus since before Phillip joined, almost since the circus had first formed, according to Anne. Phillip had heard stories of the trouble they had caused at the start, how they had shouted cruel remarks and thrown bottles and fought with anyone they could lay their hands on. Lettie had once, her tongue loosened by whisky, told him of the time she had been pushed to the floor and violently kicked. He had put his arm round her and told her how he wished he had been there to put a stop to it before she had been hurt.

Phillip had been at the circus the day the protesters had become too forceful for them to handle and in the chaos of the resulting fight the fire that had destroyed their home and very nearly taken his life had broken out. They had rebuilt, of course, and had come back bigger and stronger and better than ever, and for a while, the protests had died down. It hadn’t taken very long for them to return.  

Phillip had also been at the circus the night one of the protesters had taken hold of Helen Barnum.

\---

He had been talking to Phineas at the time, discussing how the audience seemed to be taking one of their newer routines and watching the rest of the troupe pack up. Then they had heard her scream. It had been high and sharp and terrified and coming from the direction of the tent’s main entrance, and before he could even consider what her scream could mean, Phineas was running, his eyes wide and fearful towards her and her name on his lips.

Phillip followed, exiting the tent a few seconds after his partner to find a group of protestors still there from that evening’s show, all loud and drunk and angry, and a man, their leader he guessed, was standing in front of the crowd with Helen clasped tightly in his grip. The end of a smashed bottle was held threateningly against her tearstained cheek.

Phineas was standing before the man, his expression as terrified as his daughter’s, but his posture was tense and his head was held high. Phillip hadn’t really realised how tall he was until that moment, but standing in the torchlight with his fists clenched and his hackles up, he looked nothing less than intimidating.

“Let her go!” His voice was as loud and powerful as his ringleader’s boom, but the tone was devoid of the warm openness it normally held, sounding instead cold and hard and threatening.

The leader of the protesters was either too drunk or stupid to notice. He laughed drunkenly, showing yellow teeth and spraying spittle into Helen’s hair.

“Now why would I do that?”

Nasty jeers of encouragement shot up from the crowd behind them man and he laughed again, swaying slightly on the spot and pulling Helen with him, the bottle still held dangerously close to her skin. She stumbled with him, straining away from the glass but not struggling against the arms that held her. Her wide, fearful eyes were fixed solely on her father in a wordless cry for help as silent tears carved a trail down her alabaster skin. 

Phineas flinched as the couple swayed but, somehow, when he replied his voice held steady.

“Because she’s just a child, and it’s me and my circus you have a problem with. Now let her go before this goes too far.”

The man smirked. “She is a child, yes, but she’s _your_ child, you see, and that makes her my little bargaining chip,” he explained almost joyfully over the raucous noise from behind him. “So, here’s the deal: if you stop these disgusting little freakshows you can have her back unharmed. If not,” The bottle in his hand twisted, glinting red in the light of the torches, “I might just have to I’ll turn her into one of them.”

Phineas shook his head. “Please, no, she’s innocent. I’ll stop-”

“Phineas Taylor Barnum, king of freaks,” he spat, eyes flickering up to the crowd of circus performers gathered silently beside open flaps of the main tent. “But apparently he does not want his pretty little girl to join the show!” He ran the bottle down Helen’s cheek, not quite hard enough to draw blood but enough to produce a fresh wave of terrified tears. 

Phineas paled further, his hands moving up to hover in front of him, half outstretched in desperation and half held up in surrender. Phillip had never seen him look so panicked and unsure, his showman’s veneer gone and his emotions on display for all to see.

“Stop! I said I’ll end the show if that’s what you want.” he said, and for the first time that night Phillip could hear a tremor in his tone. “Just please don’t hurt her.”

“Hmmm, see unfortunately I don’t believe you,” the man said with a look of over-exaggerated sympathy and then, grinning menacingly down at the statue-still girl in his arms, he used the hand holding the bottle to take hold of Helen’s chin and angle it up towards him. His eyes were hungry. “It’s a shame really, Barnum, she’s got such a pretty face.”

Phineas took that as his moment to act, surging forwards at the man with a rage too fast for him to stop. The two men collided, Barnum catching him by the shoulders and shoving him over backwards. All three of them fell into a heap on the dusty grass, Helen caught somewhere between the two men.  

They rolled on the floor, once, twice, the protesters cheering and whooping and the circus troupe yelling, until they came to a halt a few feet from the edge of the tent. A small figure emerged from the heap and scampered, at first on all fours and then running on two feet, away from the men on the ground. Helen collided with Phillips legs and he held her to him, protectively scooping her into his arms without taking his eyes from the pair writhing on the floor. It took him a second to realise that Phineas seemed to be on the defence rather than the offence.

Punches flew both ways and then, quite suddenly, both men were on their feet again, or Phineas was anyway, because although the other man was upright his feet hovered above the floor, held up by Phineas’ hands fisted angrily around the lapels of his jacket. For a moment, they paused there, one man furious and the other taunting, and then the taller man spoke, his voice low and dangerous and so quiet Phillip could scarcely hear what was being said.

“I’m not going to fight you, I am not going to sink to your level.” The drunken man laughed and tried to twist free from Phineas’ grip but only received a hard shake for his efforts before being lifted further from the ground until their noses were only inches apart. The protester's eyes were fixed on Phineas’ furious face. “But know that I will not be held responsible for my actions if you touch either my daughters, or my wife, or anyone else I care about again. Do I make myself clear?” There was a pause and another shake and then the man nodded, and Phineas released him, pushing him away with enough force that the other man stumbled backwards, falling onto the floor in front of the group of protesters. “Now leave my circus, stay away, and never, never touch a member of my family again.”

The man stood slowly and looked about to turn when a snide grin grew on his lips. “Leave?” he laughed dirtily, drawing a jeer from the crowd and took a step closer. Phineas held his ground and they stood facing each other, one man drunk and leering in a dirty brown jacket, an empty bottle held in his hands and the other stood tall and calm and dressed in silky red cotton, the gold tips of his showman’s coat almost glowing in the torchlight and his hands held loosely by his sides.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” he asked, smirking dirtily, and then with surprising speed he lunged, and although Phineas’ hands flew up to defend himself from the not overly unexpected attack, the other man had the advantage and swung the empty bottle he had taken from the floor with him when he stood. It caught Phineas solidly on the side of his head and cracked audibly as the glass shattered. Green crystals showered Barnum’s coat and hair before falling to the ground.

Phineas fell too, twisting with the force of the blow. He made no attempt to catch himself as he landed sprawled and limp on his side on the dusty floor. Some of the circus troop gasped and others yelled, and Helen screamed ‘Daddy!’ and struggled in Phillip’s arms, desperate to get to him despite the man who had held her captive still standing leeringly over him. Phillip stayed silent, his heart in his throat and his eyes fixed on the seemingly unconscious form of his friend and partner. Worry stirred uncomfortably in his gut when Phineas stayed where he had landed.

Cheers rose from the protesters and there was the sound of glass clinking as they celebrated their victory. The leader frowned, looking both as though he couldn’t quite believe his luck and a little disappointed, and then much to Phillip’s horror, he gave the fallen man’s side an experimental, none too gentle kick.

The seconds that passed before Barnum stirred passed like years, but eventually, slowly, he seemed to wake, a groan escaping his lips as he worked his way back to his senses. A moment passed and then he sat up dizzily, swaying lightly, one hand on the dusty earth for support and the other holding his likely hurting head. He looked around, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and pain and his face bloody from a cut somewhere on his forehead.

He was bleeding fairly heavily Phillip realised with a jolt, if the dark patch on the mud where his head had been was anything to go by but, somehow, only moments later he was climbing unsteadily to his feet.

Cheers erupted from a few in the circus crowd, and more excited yells went up from the protesters at the prospect of a continuation of the fight. The leader grinned darkly, and with a roar, lunged again, restarting his onslaught before Phineas seemed to have got his sense of balance back in a dirty attempt to gain the upper hand.

But this time it was somehow Phineas who hit first, his fist colliding solidly with the other man’s jaw with an audible crack. The drunken man went down heavily, just as the other had moments before, and landed unconscious on the hard, dusty mud beside the man who had felled him. The crowds on both sides of the two men fell silent.

Phineas stood straight, panting slightly but no longer unsteady on his feet and despite being unconscious only seconds before he looked strong and fierce and intimidating, the blood that had seeped from somewhere near his hairline and a graze Phillip hadn’t noticed before that marred his cheek only adding to the macabre appearance.

A few silent seconds passed before he turned back to face the suddenly hushed crowd of protesters. They looked fearful and a little unsure, their bravery lost with the consciousness of their leader.

“Just because I won’t sink to your level and fight does not mean I won’t defend my family,” Phineas growled, his tone harsh and fierce. “And by my family I mean not only my wife and my girls, but every man, woman, and child who lives or works in this circus.” His eyes scanned the crowd. “Now leave, all of you. I do not want to see any of you back here again.”

Under Phineas’ icy stare the crowd dissipated hurriedly and with whispered words, almost scurrying towards the gate. The two men who came forwards to collect their unconscious leader refused to look him in the eye.

Despite his strong appearance, Phineas looked to almost deflate the moment the last of the protesters was out of sight, his showman’s veneer again lost, and he turned on unsteady legs to face the troop, his eyes scanning them until they finally settled on the girl in Phillips arms.

“Helen,” he almost whispered and dropped to his knees to accept a hug from the small girl as she ran forwards, finally released from the safety of Phillip’s arms.

The two collided in a tangle of arms and then Helen was held tight against her father’s chest, her arms wrapping tightly round him too. Phineas’ head was bowed, his chin against her head as he whispered words so quiet only she could hear them and planted soft kisses into her hair. Helen was crying again, her shoulders shaking but her tears soundless.

Behind him, Philip was vaguely aware of Lettie dismissing the troupe, sending them back indoors under the premise of tidying up from the final show of the evening but in reality, to give the Barnum’s some space. Phillip almost wanted to follow them inside too, the moment before him seemed so private he didn’t want to bear witness, but instead he walked towards his partner and the daughter he held so tightly in his arms.

Phineas looked up as he approached, his hazel eyes shining brightly with tears and looking a little unfocused. His head was still leaking too, blood trailing down the side of his face and dripping onto his ruby jacket. Some of it has landed on the shoulder of Helen’s coat too, a dark scarlet against the pink. He ought to see a doctor, Phillip realised numbly.

“You’re not seeing double, are you?” he asked, regretting the stupid question the moment it had left his lips, as he held out a hand, offering it to help his partner to his feet. He was somewhat surprised when Phineas shook his head distractedly and then took his hand, leaning on him with more weight than he was expecting to pull himself up, and then using it to steady himself when he stumbled. Helen stayed held to his chest with his other arm while he stood, her legs wrapping around his waist as she clung to him like a limpet.

“Thank you,” Phineas almost whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. Phillip nodded dumbly in response, not knowing what to say in reply because he wasn’t quite sure what he was being thanked for.

They started towards the tent and then Barnum cleared his throat. His voice was somewhat steadier when he spoke.

“Actually, Phillip, could you call me a coach? I going to take Helen home. I’ll come back afterwards, Charity and Caroline will be home now, but she shouldn’t have to stay-”

“Phineas, you should both go home,” Phillip interrupted, cutting off the anxious, almost stuttering words. His own tone was steadier, calmer, but his stomach still churned in turmoil. “There’s little more to be done here tonight so there’s no need for you to return.”

He had almost expected Phineas to protest, but instead he nodded and muttered his thanks and then continued in the direction of the main tent. Phillip lets out a shaky sigh and headed towards the road in search of a carriage. Only when he was out of sight of the entrance did he finally allow the emotions of the night to show.

\---

Phineas was sitting on an upturned box just inside the entrance of the main tent with Helen perched on his lap when Phillip returned. She was sitting sideways across his legs leaning into her father’s chest with her head on his shoulder and he had his arms wrapped around her, his cheek resting on her head despite the blood that was still leaking from his hairline. They were rocking together ever so slightly, and as he got closer, Phillip realised that he Phineas was singing to her, his voice low and soft and so quiet the words themselves were lost to him.

He cleared his throat as he approached, and two sets of hazel eyes looked up, Helen’s heavy and a little haunted and Phineas’ looking considerably tearier than his daughter’s. His voice was thick when he spoke up in greeting too, and Phillip couldn’t help but smile softly at the huge man.

“There’s a coach outside to take you home,” he told them, and then held out the clean, white cloth he had taken from his tent on the way past for his partner to take. “I’m not sure they’ll take you bleeding like that though.”

Phineas frowned and touched a hand to his head and his brow deepened further when it his fingers came back sticky and red. “Is it that bad?”

Phillip grimaced, trying to work out a polite way to tell his partner that he looked as though he had washed his face and clothing with blood instead of soap and water when he was unexpectedly saved by Helen.

“It looks like you’ve been on a day out at a slaughter house, Daddy,” she explained, her voice smaller than normal but with a look of disapproval to match her mother’s. Phineas looked a little surprised to hear her speaking too. 

“Oh.” He took the cloth and held it to his head, wincing as the fabric made contact with the wound, and then stood, shuffling his daughter until she ended up perched on his hip. He stumbled dizzily again a moment later, steadying himself on a conveniently close post. Phillip raised his eyebrows pointedly but refrained from commenting.

“Take care, both of you,” he said instead, moving to open the flap of the tent. Phineas nodded and followed him and then with another quiet thank you and a ghost of a smile, he passed through the door and into the night.

Helen peaked over his shoulder as he carried her away.

 “Bye, Flip,” she said, her tone small and slightly choked with tears.

\---

Phillip was called from his tent some sleepless hours later by Lettie, and he exited confused and worried, to find the eldest son of one of the Barnum’s nicer neighbours standing beside her just outside the flaps. The boy looked to have dressed hurriedly, and Phillip’s gut swam in concern.

“Is something wrong?”

“Mrs Barnum asked me to deliver this.” The young man held out an off-white envelope with Phillip’s name hurriedly scrawled on the front of it.

He took it, brows drawing together, and then tore it open and fished out the note inside. The writing was as rushed as his name on the envelope had been.

_Phillip,_

_I apologise for disturbing you so late at night, but I am worried about Phin. He left home an hour ago seeming quite upset and is yet to return. I don’t know where he has gone. He didn’t seem well when he left; I think he blames himself for what happened to Helen._

_Please find him, - I don’t want him to be alone tonight._

_Charity._

Phillip folded the note, and with a quick word to the young man to pass on his response to Charity, headed back into his tent to gather his scarf and hat.

\---

Phillip found Phineas alone in the pub the troupe tended to frequent, sitting at the bar with a bottle of whisky beside him and a tumbler in his hand. The bar was dark, most of the lights unlit, and Phillip suspected that Barnum may have let himself in. He had changed clothes since Phillip had last seen him, his bloodied ringleaders outfit exchanged for a simple blue shirt and a pair of dark trousers. He didn’t appear to have brought a coat or jacket with him, and Phillip wondered if he had left without really planning to.

The wound on his head looked to have been crudely tended to too, someone had washed the blood from his face and neck and his previously bloody hair was damp and clean instead. He had clearly not seen a doctor as Phillip had hoped he would; the cut itself was still open, blood leaking lazily from the wound and his temple was smudged with red as though he had been wiping at the beads when they fell.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Phillip said in greeting, taking off his hat and placing it neatly on one of the abandoned tables. Barnum didn’t look round, but then Phillip realised that wasn’t much of a surprise as he hadn’t turned at the sound of the door being opened and closed either.

“Evening, Carlyle,” he sighed, his tone dark and his syllables a mess. “I’d say good, but…” he broke off with a sloppy shrug.

Phillip sighed.

“You’re slurring,” he remarked casually, making his way over to the bar his friend was sat at and taking the neighbouring seat.

Phineas smirked and huffed out a laugh but didn’t turn to face him, instead holding up his glass and examining the amber liquid inside thoughtfully before draining the drink in one. 

“Half a bottle of whisky’ll do that.” His tone hard with a bitter humour. “You of all people should be more than familiar with the feeling.”

Phillip frowned at the bitter sting of his partner’s words but swallowed his pride.

“I was more checking it wasn’t due to that blow you took than complaining about your drinking habits.” He flicked his eyes purposefully towards the ragged cut on the other man’s temple. It was bruising too, he realised, now that he was closer. “As you pointed out, I can’t really be the one to scold you for drowning your sorrows.”

He said it lightly, but Phineas’ expression flashed from bitter to slightly embarrassed anyway, apparently not quite drunk enough to miss Phillip’s hurt, and muttered an apology.

“I will tell you that whisky isn’t a solution, though,” Phillip continued softly, watching as the empty tumbler rolled in his friend’s hands.

Barnum scoffed darkly. “Feels like it’s working to me,” he muttered, and then pointedly poured himself another drink. His hands trembled, the lip of the bottle clattering against the rim of his tumbler as the glass filled. Phillip let him do it, wondering if he was expecting him to intervene. He probably should, considering the man had been knocked unconscious hours before and had yet to see a doctor, but he didn’t, realising starting an argument would probably be counterproductive.

Phineas finished filling the glass and set the bottle down, leaving it uncapped, before lifting the glass to his lips. Philip sighed when the drink went down as quickly as the previous one had.

“Yes, it does feel like it helps, you do forget your problems,” he agreed once Phineas’ act of defiance was over, “But it doesn’t make them vanish. They’re still be there when you sober up, and you’ll feel even worse about them, and guilty about drinking too, so you’ll have another drink to forget it all again, and then another and another, until it becomes a cycle and you don’t want to sober up because you don’t want to deal with it anymore.” He broke off sharply, realising he had said more than intended, and then sighed. “It’s not a solution, Barnum, trust me, I’ve been there.”

Phineas spun the glass in his shaking hands but didn’t reply. Phillip gave him the space to gather his thoughts, waiting to see what he would do, and then eventually, he put the glass down, laying his shaking hands on the wooden top of the bar. Phillip couldn’t help but notice the bruising that was taking over the knuckles and back of the right one, but the time didn’t seem right to mention it. Instead, he tentatively took the bottle of whisky and screwed the cap back in place, placing it back on the counter with a dull thud.

Phineas seemed to startle at the noise, coming back from his thoughts. He blinked and then frowned slightly.

“How did you know I was here?”

Phillip blinked at the unexpected question. “Because I know you,” he said, smiling as his friend’s eyebrows puckered further in confusion. “And because Charity sent a message asking me to find you. She’s worried about you, you know.”

Phineas looked round at that, and Phillip finally got a full view of his face. He looked angry and haunted and confused all at the same time and his red eyes were heavy with alcohol and pinched in pain and guilt. Phillip realised that as Charity had written in her letter, Phineas was very likely blaming himself for what had happened that evening.

“It’s Helen she should be worried about.”

“Helen’s okay, she’s safely at home,” Philip reassured him softly. “It’s you who left home angry and upset and ended up drowning your sorrows alone at-” he checked his watch “-just gone three am. With a head injury, just to top it off.”

Phineas choked out a bitter laugh and then, as though reminded, lifted a hand to his forehead, wiping away the blood that had built up on the bruising skin with a wince. He cleaned his hand on his trousers, and Phillip let out a badly suppressed wince of his own. Barnum glanced at him, a small smile on his lips, apparently amused by Phillip’s disgust. For a second, Phillip thought the conversation might be over for the night, but then the older man sighed, and his expression became tortured and serious once again. His eyes dropped to the empty glass on the counter top and he took it in his hands again, spinning it slowly and smearing blood on the glass.

“She could have been killed today,” he almost whispered, his voice choked with emotion and his eyes bright. Phillip’s stomached clenched unpleasantly because although he was aware how badly the situation could have gone, of how Barnum had possibly saved his daughter’s life, hearing it said out loud in his shaking tone somehow made it seem a lot more real.

Phillip swallowed, suppressing his own wave of emotion. “I know, but she wasn’t, she’s alive and well because you put your own life at risk to save hers.”  

Phineas looked up, his expression defeated.

“I know, but it was my fault she was there in the first place. I shouldn’t have brought her with me, I know how those men can be.” He sighed shakily, his eyes dropping longingly to his whisky glass. “Maybe I should have never gone back for them.” he mused, his voice low enough that Philip realised the comment had not been made to him. “They’d have been safer there.”

The younger man frowned, not understanding what his friend was trying to say through the whisky and emotions and the possible head injury. He had his eyes fixed on his hands again, but this time was spinning his wedding band round his finger, his marriage clearly on his mind, and then what he had meant clicked and Phillip’s eyes widened.

“At the Hallett’s?”

Phineas hummed brokenly in confirmation.

“They’d hate it there.” Phillip suppressed a snort as he tried to imagine the two unruly Barnum daughters growing up as his sister had, all pretty dresses and lessons on manners and finishing school.

“Don’t you think I don’t know that!” Phineas almost groaned in frustration, looking up to Phillip with overly bright eyes. Phillip startled at the sudden outburst and Phineas averted his eyes again and ran a shaking hand through his hair with more force than was necessary. He looked angry and upset and like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Of course I know that, but at least they’d be safe!”

Phillip looked at him, taking in his tortured expression and haunted, drunken eyes and the still bleeding cut on his temple, and sighed.

“But you must know that them being safe isn’t all that matters,” he explained softly, and the older man seemed to deflate a little at his words. “I grew up ‘safe’, but you know I wasn’t happy. I was miserable to the extent that I ended up on a path that you thankfully saved me from.” He glanced pointedly at the bottle on the counter and Phineas’ eyes followed to it too. He looked a little confused again, as though thinking was an effort, and Phillip realised that with the amount of alcohol flowing in his bloodstream, it probably was.

He sighed softly and took the hand of his partner, drawing him round so they were sitting side on to the bar, facing each other with their knees almost touching. Phineas swayed a little on his stool, the last few shots seeming to finally have hit, but his hazel eyes were focused blearily on Phillip. 

“You’ve had a shock tonight and I know you’re upset and blaming yourself for what happened, and between that and the whisky and probably that blow to your head I doubt you’re thinking quite as straight as normal, but just try and listen, okay?”

Phineas nodded, his eyebrows drawn together.

“I know you want to protect Helen and Caroline but keeping them away from you and from the circus isn’t the way to do it. The might be safer, maybe, but they’d be miserable, and that’s no way for them to live.

“What happened tonight was terrible, but there are measures we can put in place to prevent it from happening again. I can’t promise you that no harm will ever come to either of them at the circus, just as I can’t promise you nothing will happen to them anywhere else; the world is dangerous and even you can’t keep them sheltered from it all, they wouldn’t allow it.

“But what we can do is try our hardest to keep them as safe as possible whilst they are there, keep them inside the tent and make sure they’re never alone, and that way we can hopefully stop what happened tonight from happening again, and at the same time they get to still be a part of the circus they love and the life you built for them.”

There was a pause, long and heavy, before Phineas’ expression softened. “You’re right, of course you’re right.” He looked to deflate, slumping precariously on his bar stool.

Phillip put a hand on his shoulder partially to comfort him and partially because Barnum falling from his seat was looking more and more likely with every minute that passed. “It’s okay, you had a shock tonight, and a lot more whisky than is sensible given your head.”

Phineas nodded tiredly and then his eyes opened a little wider. “You know, I just want what’s best for them,” he explained, a sudden desperation in his tone. “I’ve always wanted to do what’s best for them.”

“I know you do, and I think they know that to. You love and care for them so much more than my parents ever did for me, more than any other parent I’ve seen, and it shows. I have never seen such happy, carefree, loving children as your two girls. They are amazing children, Phineas, and you and Charity should be proud to have brought them up.”

There was a pause, Phineas’ expression thoughtful as though processing what had been said, and then really quite suddenly he jumped down from the bar stool. Phillip jumped down too, startled by the sudden movement but quick enough to catch his swaying partner by the shoulders and steady him when he lurched, drunk and dizzy to one side.

“I should go home, Chairy’s there,” he slurred determinedly, seeming not to notice his lack of balance.

Philip smiled, releasing his friend and crossing the room to retrieve his hat. “Indeed she is, and there’s not a chance you won’t find her sitting by the window waiting for you to return.”

Phineas looked a little confused again, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what had been said but nodded anyway. He slumped against the bar, unable to hold himself upright.

“You really are a mess,” Phillip scolded lightly, “But you’re also right; we should get you home.”

Phineas nodded again, then he paused. “We?”

“Yes, we.” Phillip flipped his hat on to his head, showman style, and then put an arm around his friend’s waist and slung an arm around his neck before pulling him away from the bar. The both stumbled, Barnum drunkenly and Phillip under the added weight. “I’m going to walk you home.”

“What, why?”

“Because I doubt Charity would be very happy with me if she found out I’d let her intoxicated and possibly slightly concussed husband walk home alone,” Phillip explained as he led the unsteady ringleader from the building, “And I don’t really want to deal with her wrath if she found out.”

\---

The cold air seemed to work wonders, and two blocks later Phineas was mostly silent and although the few words he spoke were slurred, he was at least walking under mostly his own power. It wasn’t a long walk from the bar to the modest city apartment the Barnums now owned, but Phillip was relieved some of his friend’s weight had been taken from his shoulders.

They made it to within three blocks of the apartment before Phineas slurred anything worth deciphering.

“Helen might not want to come back to the circus,” he worried, frowning slightly in thought.

Phillip smiled sadly, realising the truth in what possibly one of the most sensible things his friend had said all night.

“She might not, for a little while,” he agreed, watching as Barnum’s expression fell at his words. It was almost as though he had been hoping Phillip would call his words humbug as he had for most of their late-night drinking session. “She might need a little time to process what happened, you know, but she’s a strong girl, she’ll want to come back eventually.”

Phineas nodded, his expression downcast and his eyes fixing on his stumbling feet. Phillip watched him, not for the first time that evening realising how badly the normally unfazeable man had taken the events at the circus. It was understandable though, Phillip knew, even his own chest still felt tight thinking of what had happened, and he wasn’t Helen’s father.

A few moments passed, and then Phineas sniffed a little, his emotions barely under control. Phillip sighed fondly.

“Listen, Phineas, maybe you should take some time off from the circus, spend it with the girls and Charity.”

Phineas despite himself, looked up, a protest already on his lips. “Last time-”

“It won’t be like last time, you’ll be there if we need you, but I can handle the day to day running and you know that.” He paused, and his voice softened. “It wasn’t just Helen who had a shock tonight. Hell, you seemed more upset than she did, so maybe spending a little time with your family away from the circus would do you some good too.”

Phineas’ gaze fell back at his feet, his expression torn, but at least he didn’t snub the suggestion.

Phillip gave the arm he was holding a supportive squeeze but said nothing more, leaving him to his thoughts. He still hadn’t responded by the time they reached his house.

\---

Despite their conversation on the walk to his house the night before, Phineas arrived at the circus just after lunch the next day. Phillip almost sighed at the sight of him; he looked a state, with dark circles under tired eyes and a grazed right cheek stark against his unusually pasty skin, and a bruise, blue and angry, starting just above his left eyebrow and extending up into his hairline. At least the wound on his forehead had at some point been sewn closed with a line of neat, black stitches.

He looked a little uncomfortable too, likely bruised aching from the fight, and was squinting slightly in the bright summer light as though it was bothering him. Phillip realised that between the hangover he almost certainly had and the blow he had taken yesterday, he was probably nursing a rather sore head.

But despite the probable headache and the general ill appearance and the cautious twitch of his eyes, he looked content in an exhausted kind of way and there was a relieved smile on his lips, almost certainly due to the presence of the two slightly nervous but determined looking girls who stood beside him, their smaller hands held tenderly in his.


End file.
